rz/!^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
Gift  of 


EYVIND  FAYE 


^''■%r<;  /f/<^- 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

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FRUIT-GATHERING 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •   BOSTON  •    CHICAGO    •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LimTED 

LONDON   •  BOMBAY   •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


FRUIT-GATHERING 


BY 

Sm  RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 


K^ttt  fork 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1916 

AU  rights  reserved 


CoPYBiaHT,  1916 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  November,  1916. 


FRUIT-GATHERING 


Bid  me  and  I  shall  gather  my  fruits  to 
bring  them  in  full  baskets  into  your 
courtyard,  though  some  are  lost  and 
some  not  ripe. 

For  the  season  grows  heavy  with  its 
fulness,  and  there  is  a  plaintive  shep- 
herd's pipe  in  the  shade. 

Bid  me  and  I  shall  set  sail  on  the 
river. 

The  March  wind  is  fretful,  fretting 
the  languid  waves  into  murmurs. 

The  garden  has  yielded  its  all,  and 
in  the  weary  hour  of  evening  the  call 
comes  from  your  house  on  the  shore  in 
the  sunset. 


FRUIT-GATHERING 


II 


My  life  when  young  was  like  a  flower — 
a  flower  that  loosens  a  petal  or  two 
from  her  abundance  and  never  feels 
the  loss  when  the  spring  breeze  comes 
to  beg  at  her  door. 

Now  at  the  end  of  youth  my  life  is 
like  a  fruit,  having  nothing  to  spare, 
and  waiting  to  offer  herself  completely 
with  her  full  burden  of  sweetness. 


FRUIT-GATHERING  3 


III 


Is  summer's  festival  only  for  fresh 
blossoms  and  not  also  for  withered 
leaves  and  faded  flowers? 

Is  the  song  of  the  sea  in  tune  only 
with  the  rising  waves? 

Does  it  not  also  sing  with  the  waves 
that  fall? 

Jewels  are  woven  into  the  carpet 
where  stands  my  king,  but  there  are 
patient  clods  waiting  to  be  touched  by 
his  feet. 

Few  are  the  wise  and  the  great  who 
sit  by  my  Master,  but  he  has  taken  the 
foolish  in  his  arms  and  made  me  his 
servant  for  ever. 


FRUIT-GATHERING 


IV 


I  WOKE  and  found  his  letter  with  the 
morning. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  says,  for  I 
cannot  read. 

I  shall  leave  the  wise  man  alone  with 
his  books,  I  shall  not  trouble  him,  for 
who  knows  if  he  can  read  what  the 
letter  says. 

Let  me  hold  it  to  my  forehead  and 
press  it  to  my  heart. 

When  the  night  grows  still  and  stars 
come  out  one  by  one  I  will  spread  it 
on  my  lap  and  stay  silent. 

The  rustling  leaves  will  read  it  aloud 
to  me,  the  rushing  stream  will  chant  it, 
and  the  seven  wise  stars  will  sing  it  to 
me  from  the  sky. 


FRUIT-GATHERING  5 

I  cannot  find  what  I  seek,  I  cannot 
understand  what  I  would  learn;  but 
this  unread  letter  has  lightened  my 
burdens  and  turned  my  thoughts  into 
songs. 


6  FRUIT-GATHERING 


A  HANDFUL  of  dust  could  hide  your 
signal  when  I  did  not  know  its  mean- 
ing. 

Now  that  I  am  wiser  I  read  it  in  all 
that  hid  it  before. 

It  is  painted  in  petals  of  flowers; 
waves  flash  it  from  their  foam;  hills 
hold  it  high  on  their  summits. 

I  had  my  face  turned  from  you, 
therefore  I  read  the  letters  awry  and 
knew  not  their  meaning. 


FRUIT-GATHERING 


VI 


Where  roads  are  made  I  lose  my 
way. 

In  the  wide  water,  in  the  blue  sky 
there  is  no  line  of  a  track. 

The  pathway  is  hidden  by  the  birds' 
wings,  by  the  star-fires,  by  the  flowers 
of  the  wayfaring  seasons. 

And  I  ask  my  heart  if  its  blood 
carries  the  wisdom  of  the  miseen  way. 


8  FRUIT-GATHERING 


VII 

Alas,  I  cannot  stay  in  the  house,  and 
home  has  become  no  home  to  me,  for 
the  eternal  Stranger  calls,  he  is  going 
along  the  road. 

The  sound  of  his  footfall  knocks  at 
my  breast;  it  pains  me! 

The  wind  is  up,  the  sea  is  moaning. 

I  leave  all  my  cares  and  doubts 
to  follow  the  homeless  tide,  for  the 
Stranger  calls  me,  he  is  going  along 
the  road. 


FRUIT-GATHERING  9 


vni 

Be  ready  to  launch  forth,  my  heart! 
and  let  those  linger  who  must. 

For  your  name  has  been  called  in  the 
morning  sky. 

Wait  for  none! 

The  desire  of  the  bud  is  for  the  night 
and  dew,  but  the  blown  flower  cries  for 
the  freedom  of  light. 

Burst  your  sheath,  my  heart,  and 
come  forth! 


10         FRUIT-GATHERING 


IX 


When  I  lingered  among  my  hoarded 
treasure  I  felt  like  a  worm  that  feeds 
in  the  dark  upon  the  fruit  where  it 
was  born. 

I  leave  this  prison  of  decay. 

I  care  not  to  haunt  the  mouldy  still- 
ness, for  I  go  in  search  of  everlasting 
youth;  I  throw  away  all  that  is  not 
one  with  my  life  nor  as  light  as  my 
laughter. 

I  run  through  time  and,  O  my 
heart,  in  your  chariot  dances  the  poet 
who  sings  while  he  wanders. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         11 


You  took  my  hand  and  drew  me  to 
your  side,  made  me  sit  on  the  high  seat 
before  all  men,  till  I  became  timid, 
unable  to  stir  and  walk  my  own  way; 
doubting  and  debating  at  every  step 
lest  I  should  tread  upon  any  thorn  of 
their  disfavour. 

I  am  freed  at  last! 

The  blow  has  come,  the  drum  of 
insult  sounded,  my  seat  is  laid  low  in 
the  dust. 

My  paths  are  open  before  me. 

My  wings  are  full  of  the  desire  of 
the  sky. 

I  go  to  join  the  shooting  stars  of 
midnight,  to  plunge  into  the  profound 
shadow. 


n         FRUIT-GATHERING 

I  am  like  the  storm-driven  cloud  of 
summer  that,  having  cast  off  its  crown 
of  gold,  hangs  as  a  sword  the  thunder- 
bolt upon  a  chain  of  lightning. 

In  desperate  joy  I  run  upon  the 
dusty  path  of  the  despised;  I  draw 
near  to  your  final  welcome. 

The  child  finds  its  mother  when  it 
leaves  her  womb. 

When  I  am  parted  from  you,  thrown 
out  from  your  household,  I  am  free  to 
see  your  face. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         13 


XI 


It  decks  me  only  to  mock  me,  this 
jewelled  chain  of  mine. 

It  bruises  me  when  on  my  neck,  it 
strangles  me  when  I  struggle  to  tear 
it  oflF. 

It  grips  my  throat,  it  chokes  my 
singing. 

Could  I  but  offer  it  to  your  hand, 
my  Lord,  I  would  be  saved. 

Take  it  from  me,  and  in  exchange 
bind  me  to  you  with  a  garland,  for  I 
am  ashamed  to  stand  before  you  with 
this  jewelled  chain  on  my  neck. 


14         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XII 

Far  below  flowed  the  Jumna,  swift 
and  clear,  above  frowned  the  jutting 
bank. 

Hills  dark  with  the  woods  and 
scarred  with  the  torrents  were  gathered 
around. 

Govinda,  the  great  Sikh  teacher, 
sat  on  the  rock  reading  scriptures, 
when  Raghunath,  his  disciple,  proud 
of  his  wealth,  came  and  bowed  to  him 
and  said,  **I  have  brought  my  poor 
present  unworthy  of  your  acceptance." 

Thus  saying  he  displayed  before  the 
teacher  a  pair  of  gold  bangles  wrought 
with  costly  stones. 

The  master  took  up  one  of  them, 


rRUlT-GATHERING         15 

twirling  it  round  his  finger,  and  the 
diamonds  darted  shafts  of  light. 

Suddenly  it  slipped  from  his  hand 
and  rolled  down  the  bank  into  the 
water. 

'*Alas,"  screamed  Raghunath,  and 
jumped  into  the  stream. 

The  teacher  set  his  eyes  upon  his 
book,  and  the  water  held  and  hid  what 
it  stole  and  went  its  way. 

The  daylight  faded  when  Raghunath 
came  back  to  the  teacher  tired  and 
dripping. 

He  panted  and  said,  "I  can  still  get 
it  back  if  you  show  me  where  it  fell." 

The  teacher  took  up  the  remaining 
bangle  and  throwing  it  into  the  water 
said,  **It  is  there." 


16         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XIII 

To  move  is  to  meet  you  every  moment, 
Fellow-traveller ! 

It  is  to  sing  to  the  falling  of  your 
feet. 

He  whom  your  breath  touches  does 
not  glide  by  the  shelter  of  the  bank. 

He  spreads  a  reckless  sail  to  the 
wind  and  rides  the  turbulent  water. 

He  who  throws  his  doors  open  and 
steps  onward  receives  your  greeting. 

He  does  not  stay  to  count  his  gain 
or  to  mourn  his  loss;  his  heart  beats 
the  drum  for  his  march,  for  that  is 
to  march  with  you  every  step. 

Fellow-traveller ! 


FRUIT-GATHERING         17 


XIV 

My  portion  of  the  best  in  this  world 
will  come  from  your  hands:  such  was 
your  promise. 

Therefore  your  light  glistens  in  my 
tears. 

I  fear  to  be  led  by  others  lest  I  miss 
you  waiting  in  some  road  corner  to 
be  my  guide. 

I  walk  my  own  wilful  way  till  my 
very  folly  tempts  you  to  my  door. 

For  I  have  your  promise  that  my 
portion  of  the  best  in  this  world  will 
come  from  your  hands. 


18         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XV 

\/ 
Your  speech  is  simple,   my  Master 
but  not  theirs  who  talk  of  you. 

I  understand  the  voice  of  your  stars 
and  the  silence  of  your  trees. 

I  know  that  my  heart  would  open 
like  a  flower;  that  my  life  has  filled 
itself  at  a  hidden  fountain. 

Your  songs,  like  birds  from  the 
lonely  land  of  snow,  are  winging  to 
build  their  nests  in  my  heart  against 
the  warmth  of  its  April,  and  I  am 
content  to  wait  for  the  merry  season. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         19 


XVI 

They  knew  the  way  and  went  to  seek 
you  along  the  narrow  lane,  but  I 
wandered  abroad  into  the  night  for  I 
was  ignorant. 

I  was  not  schooled  enough  to  be 
afraid  of  you  in  the  dark,  therefore 
I  came  upon  your  doorstep  unaware. 

The  wise  rebuked  me  and  bade  me 
be  gone,  for  I  had  not  come  by  the 
lane. 

I  turned  away  in  doubt,  but  you 
held  me  fast,  and  their  scolding  be- 
came louder  every  day. 


20         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XVII 

I  BROUGHT  out  my  earthen  lamp  from 
my  house  and  cried,  "Come,  children, 
I  will  light  your  path ! " 

The  night  was  still  dark  when  I  re- 
turned, leaving  the  road  to  its  silence, 
crying,  "Light  me,  O  Fire!  for  my 
earthen  lamp  lies  broken  in  the  dust! " 


FRUIT-GATHERING         21 


XVIII 

No:  it  is  not  yours  to  open  buds  into 
blossoms. 

Shake  the  bud,  strike  it;  it  is  beyond 
your  power  to  make  it  blossom. 

Your  touch  soils  it,  you  tear  its 
petals  to  pieces  and  strew  them  in  the 
dust. 

But  no  colours  appear,  and  no  per- 
fume. 

Ah!  it  is  not  for  you  to  open  the 
bud  into  a  blossom. 

He  who  can  open  the  bud  does  it  so 
simply. 

He  gives  it  a  glance,  and  the  life-sap 
stirs  through  its  veins. 

At  his  breath  the  flower  spreads  its 
wings  and  flutters  in  the  wind. 


/ 


ii        MtJiT-GATHERING 

Colours  flush  out  like  heart-longings, 
the  perfume  betrays  a  sweet  secret. 

He  who  can  open  the  bud  does  it  so 
simply. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         23 


XIX 

SuDAs,  the  gardener,  plucked  from 
his  tank  the  last  lotus  left  by  the  ravage 
of  winter  and  went  to  sell  it  to  the  king 
at  the  palace  gate. 

There  he  met  a  traveller  who  said  to 
him,  "Ask  your  price  for  the  last  lotus, 
— I  shall  offer  it  to  Lord  Buddha." 

Sudas  said,  "If  you  pay  one  golden 
mdshd  it  will  be  yoilrs." 

The  traveller  paid  it. 

At  that  moment  the  king  came  out 
and  he  wished  to  buy  the  flower,  for 
he  was  on  his  way  to  see  Lord  Buddha, 
and  he  thought,  "It  would  be  a  fine 
thing  to  lay  at  his  feet  the  lotus  that 
bloomed  in  winter." 

When  the  gardener  said  he  had  been 


24         FRUIT-GATHERING 

offered  a  golden  mdshd  the  king  oflfered 
him  ten,  but  the  traveller  doubled  the 
price. 

The  gardener,  being  greedy,  imag- 
ined a  greater  gain  from  him  for  whose 
sake  they  were  bidding.  He  bowed 
and  said,  "I  cannot  sell  this  lotus." 

In  the  hushed  shade  of  the  mango 
grove  beyond  the  city  wall  Sudas  stood 
before  Lord  Buddha,  on  whose  lips  sat 
the  silence  of  love  and  whose  eyes 
beamed  peace  like  the  morning  star 
of  the  dew-washed  autumn. 

Sudas  looked  in  his  face  and  put  the 
lotus  at  his  feet  and  bowed  his  head  to 
the  dust. 

Buddha  smiled  and  asked,  "What  is 
your  wish,  my  son?" 

Sudas  cried,  "The  least  touch  of  your 
feet." 


FRUIT-GATHERING         25 


XX 

Make  me  thy  poet,  O  Night,  veiled 
Night! 

There  are  some  who  have  sat  speech- 
less for  ages  in  thy  shadow;  let  me 
utter  their  songs. 

Take  me  up  on  thy  chariot  without 
wheels,  running  noiselessly  from  world 
to  world,  thou  queen  in  the  palace  of 
time,  thou  darkly  beautiful! 

Many  a  questioning  mind  has 
stealthily  entered  thy  courtyard  and 
roamed  through  thy  lampless  house 
seeking  for  answers. 

From  many  a  heart,  pierced  with 
the  arrow  of  joy  from  the  hands  of  the 
Unknown,     have     burst     forth     glad 


56         FRUIT-GATHERING 

chants,  shaking  the  darkness  to  its 
foundation. 

Those  wakeful  souls  gaze  in  the 
starlight  in  wonder  at  the  treasure  they 
have  suddenly  found. 

Make  me  their  poet,  O  Night,  the 
poet  of  thy  fathomless  silence. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         27 


XXI 

I  WILL  meet  one  day  the  Life  within 
me,  the  joy  that  hides  in  my  life,  though 
the  days  perplex  my  path  with  their 
idle  dust. 

I  have  known  it  in  glimpses,  and  its 
fitful  breath  has  come  upon  me,  making 
my  thoughts  fragrant  for  a  while. 

I  will  meet  one  day  the  Joy  without 
me  that  dwells  behind  the  screen  of 
light — and  will  stand  in  the  overflow- 
ing solitude  where  all  things  are  seen 
as  by  their  creator. 


28         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXII 

This  autumn  morning  is  tired  with  ex- 
cess of  light,  and  if  your  songs  grow 
fitful  and  languid  give  me  your  flute 
awhile. 

I  shall  but  play  with  it  as  the  whim 
takes  me, — now  take  it  on  my  lap,  now 
touch  it  with  my  lips,  now  keep  it  by 
my  side  on  the  grass. 

But  in  the  solemn  evening  stillness 
I  shall  gather  flowers,  to  deck  it  with 
wreaths,  I  shall  fill  it  with  fragrance;  I 
shall  worship  it  with  the  lighted  lamp. 

Then  at  night  I  shall  come  to  you 
and  give  you  back  your  flute. 

You  will  play  on  it  the  music  of  mid- 
night when  the  lonely  crescent  moon 
wanders  among  the  stars. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         29 


XXIII 

The  poet's  mind  floats  and  dances  on 
the  waves  of  life  amidst  the  voices  of 
wind  and  water. 

Now  when  the  sun  has  set  and  the 
darkened  sky  draws  upon  the  sea 
like  drooping  lashes  upon  a  weary  eye 
it  is  time  to  take  away  his  pen,  and 
let  his  thoughts  sink  into  the  bottom 
of  the  deep  amid  the -eternal  secret  of 
that  silence. 


30         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXIV 

The  night  is  dark  and  your  slumber 
is  deep  in  the  hush  of  my  being. 

Wake,  O  Pain  of  Love,  for  I  know 
not  how  to  open  the  door,  and  I  stand 
outside. 

The  hours  wait,  the  stars  watch,  the 
wind  is  still,  the  silence  is  heavy  in  my 
heart. 

Wake,  Love,  wake!  brim  my  empty 
cup,  and  with  a  breath  of  song  ruffle  the 
night. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         31 


XXV 

The  bird  of  the  morning  sings. 

Whence  has  he  word  of  the  morning 
before  the  morning  breaks,  and  when 
the  dragon  night  still  holds  the  sky  in 
its  cold  black  coils? 

Tell  me,  bird  of  the  morning,  how, 
through  the  twofold  night  of  the  sky 
and  the  leaves,  he  found  his  way  into 
your  dream,  the  messenger  out  of  the 
east? 

The  world  did  not  believe  you  when 
you  cried,  "The  sun  is  on  his  way,  the 
night  is  no  more." 

O  sleeper,  awake! 

Bare  your  forehead,  waiting  for  the 
first  blessing  of  light,  and  sing  with  the 
bird  of  the  morning  in  glad  faith. 


32         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXVI 

The  beggar  in  me  lifted  his  lean  hands 
to  the  starless  sky  and  cried  into  night's 
ear  with  his  hungry  voice. 

His  prayers  were  to  the  blind  Dark- 
ness who  lay  like  a  fallen  god  in  a 
desolate  heaven  of  lost  hopes. 

The  cry  of  desire  eddied  round  a 
chasm  of  despair,  a  wailing  bird  cir- 
cling its  empty  nest. 

But  when  morning  dropped  anchor 
at  the  rim  of  the  East,  the  beggar  in 
me  leapt  and  cried: 

''Blessed  am  I  that  the  deaf  night 
denied  me — that  its  coffer  was  empty." 

He  cried,  "O  Life,  O  Light,  you  are 
precious!  and  precious  is  the  joy  that 
at  last  has  known  you!" 


FRUIT-GATHERING         33 


XXVII 

Sanatan  was  telling  his  beads  by  the 
Ganges  when  a  Brahmin  in  rags  came 
to  him  and  said,  "Help  me,  I  am 
poor!'' 

"My  alms-bowl  is  all  that  is  my 
own,"  said  Sanatan,  "I  have  given 
away  everything  I  had." 

"But  my  lord  Shiva  came  to  me  in 
my  dreams,"  said  the  Brahmin,  "and 
counselled  me  to  come  to  you." 

Sanatan  suddenly  remembered  he 
had  picked  up  a  stone  without  price 
among  the  pebbles  on  the  river-bank, 
and  thinking  that  some  one  might  need 
it  hid  it  in  the  sands. 

He  pointed  out  the  spot  to  the 
Brahmin,  who  wondering  dug  up  the 
stone. 


34         FRUIT-GATHERING 

The  Brahmin  sat  on  the  earth  and 
mused  alone  till  the  sun  went  down 
behind  the  trees,  and  cowherds  went 
home  with  their  cattle. 

Then  he  rose  and  came  slowly  to 
Sanatan  and  said,  "Master,  give  me 
the  least  fraction  of  the  wealth  that 
disdains  all  the  wealth  of  the  world." 

And  he  threw  the  precious  stone 
into  the  water. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         35 


XXVIII 

Time  after  time  I  came  to  your  gate 
with  raised  hands,  asking  for  more  and 
yet  more. 

You  gave  and  gave,  now  in  slow 
measure,  now  in  sudden  excess. 

I  took  some,  and  some  things  I  let 
drop;  some  lay  heavy  on  my  hands; 
some  I  made  into  playthings  and  broke 
them  when  tired;  till  the  wrecks  and 
the  hoard  of  your  gifts  grew  immense, 
hiding  you,  and  the  ceaseless  expecta- 
tion wore  my  heart  out. 

Take,  oh  take — has  now  become  my 
cry. 

Shatter  all  from  this  beggar's  bowl: 
put  out  this  lamp  of  the  importunate 
watcher :  hold  my  hands,  raise  me  from 
the  still-gathering  heap  of  your  gifts 
into  the  bare  infinity  of  your  uncrowded 
presence. 


36         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXIX 

You  have  set  me  among  those  who  are 
defeated. 

I  know  it  is  not  for  me  to  win,  nor 
to  leave  the  game. 

I  shall  plunge  into  the  pool  although 
but  to  sink  to  the  bottom. 

I  shall  play  the  game  of  my  undoing. 

I  shall  stake  all  I  have  and  when  I 
lose  my  last  penny  I  shall  stake  myself, 
and  then  I  think  I  shall  have  won 
through  my  utter  defeat. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         37 


XXX 

A  SMILE  of  mirth  spread  over  the  sky 
when  you  dressed  my  heart  in  rags  and 
sent  her  forth  into  the  road  to  beg. 

She  went  from  door  to  door,  and 
many  a  time  when  her  bowl  was  nearly 
full  she  was  robbed. 

At  the  end  of  the  weary  day  she 
came  to  your  palace  gate  holding  up 
her  pitiful  bowl,  and  you  came  and 
took  her  hand  and  seated  her  beside 
you  on  your  throne. 


38         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXI 

"Who  among  you  will  take  up  the 
duty  of  feeding  the  hungry?"  Lord 
Buddha  asked  his  followers  when  fam- 
ine raged  at  Shravasti. 

Ratnakar,  the  banker,  hung  his  head 
and  said,  "Much  more  is  needed  than 
all  my  wealth  to  feed  the  hungry." 

Jaysen,  the  chief  of  the  King's  army, 
said,  "I  would  gladly  give  my  life's 
blood,  but  there  is  not  enough  food  in 
my  house." 

Dharmapal,  who  owned  broad  acres 
of  land,  said  with  a  sigh,  "The  drought 
demon  has  sucked  my  fields  dry.  I 
know  not  how  to  pay  King's  dues." 

Then  rose  Supriya,  the  mendicant's 
daughter. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         39 

She  bowed  to  all  and  meekly  said, 
"I  will  feed  the  hungry." 

"How!"  they  cried  in  surprise. 
"How  can  you  hope  to  fulfil  that 
vow.^ 

"I  am  the  poorest  of  you  all,"  said 
Supriya,  "that  is  my  strength.  I  have 
my  coffer  and  my  store  at  each  of  your 
houses." 


40         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXII 

My  king  was  unknown  to  me,  there- 
fore when  he  claimed  his  tribute  I  was 
bold  to  think  I  would  hide  myself 
leaving  my  debts  unpaid. 

I  fled  and  fled  behind  my  day's  work 
and  my  night's  dreams. 

But  his  claims  followed  me  at  every 
breath  I  drew. 

Thus  I  came  to  know  that  I  am 
known  to  him  and  no  place  left  which 
is  mine. 

Now  I  wish  to  lay  my  all  before  his 
feet,  and  gain  the  right  to  my  place  in 
his  kingdom. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         41 


XXXIII 

When  I  thought  I  would  mould  you, 
an  image  from  my  life  for  men  to  wor- 
ship, I  brought  my  dust  and  desires 
and  all  my  coloured  delusions  and 
dreams. 

When  I  asked  you  to  mould  with  my 
life  an  image  from  your  heart  for  you 
to  love,  you  brought  your  fire  and 
force,  and  truth,  loveliness  and  peace. 


42         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXIV 

"Sire,"  announced  the  servant  to  the 
King,  "the  saint  Narottam  has  never 
deigned  to  enter  your  royal  temple. 

"He  is  singing  God's  praise  under  the 
trees  by  the  open  road.  The  temple  is 
empty  of  worshippers. 

"They  flock  round  him  like  bees 
round  the  white  lotus,  leaving  the 
golden  jar  of  honey  unheeded." 

The  King,  vexed  at  heart,  went  to  the 
spot  where  Narottam  sat  on  the  grass. 

He  asked  him,  "Father,  why  leave 
my  temple  of  the  golden  dome  and  sit 
on  the  dust  outside  to  preach  God's 
love.?" 

"Because  God  is  not  there  in  your 
temple,"  said  Narottam. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         43 

The  King  frowned  and  said,  "Do 
you  know,  twenty  millions  of  gold 
went  to  the  making  of  that  marvel  of 
art,  and  it  was  consecrated  to  God  with 
costly  rites?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  answered  Narot- 
tam.  "It  was  in  that  year  when 
thousands  of  your  people  whose  houses 
had  been  burned  stood  vainly  asking 
for  help  at  your  door. 

"And  God  said,  'The  poor  creature 
who  can  give  no  shelter  to  his  brothers 
would  build  my  house!' 

"And  he  took  his  place  with  the 
shelterless  under  the  trees  by  the  road. 

"And  that  golden  bubble  is  empty 
of  all  but  hot  vapour  of  pride." 

The  King  cried  in  anger,  "Leave 
my  land." 

Calmly  said  the  saint,  "Yes,  banish 
me  where  you  have  banished  my  God." 


44         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXV 

The  trumpet  lies  in  the  dust. 

The  wind  is  weary,  the  light  is  dead. 

Ah,  the  evil  day! 

Come,  fighters,  carrying  your  flags, 
and  singers,  with  your  war-songs! 

Come,  pilgrims  of  the  march,  hurry- 
ing on  your  journey! 

The  trumpet  lies  in  the  dust  waiting 
for  us. 

I  was  on  my  way  to  the  temple  with 
my  evening  ofiFerings,  seeking  for  a 
place  of  rest  after  the  day's  dusty  toil: 
hoping  my  hurts  would  be  healed  and 
the  stains  in  my  garment  washed 
white,  when  I  found  thy  trumpet  lying 
in  the  dust. 

Was  it  not  the  hour  for  me  to  light 
my  evening  lamp  ? 


FRUIT-GATHERING         45 

Had  not  the  night  sung  its  lullaby 
to  the  stars? 

0  thou  blood-red  rose,  my  poppies 
of  sleep  have  paled  and  faded ! 

1  was  certain  my  wanderings  were 
over  and  my  debts  all  paid  when  sud- 
denly I  came  upon  thy  trumpet  lying 
in  the  dust. 

Strike  my  drowsy  heart  with  thy 
spell  of  youth! 

Let  my  joy  in  life  blaze  up  in  fire. 

Let  the  shafts  of  awakening  fly 
through  the  heart  of  night,  and  a  thrill 
of  dread  shake  blindness  and  palsy. 

I  have  come  to  raise  thy  trumpet 
from  the  dust. 

Sleep  is  no  more  for  me — my  walk 
shall  be  through  showers  of  arrows. 

Some  shall  run  out  of  their  houses 
and  come  to  my  side — some  shall  weep. 

Some  in  their  beds  shall  toss  and 
groan  in  dire  dreams. 


46         FRUIT-GATHERING 

For  to-night  thy  trumpet  shall  be 
sounded. 

From  thee  I  have  asked  peace  only 
to  find  shame. 

Now  I  stand  before  thee — ^help  me 
to  put  on  my  armour! 

Let  hard  blows  of  trouble  strike  fire 
into  my  life. 

Let  my  heart  beat  in  pain,  the  drum 
of  thy  victory. 

My  hands  shall  be  utterly  emptied 
to  take  up  thy  trumpet. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         47 


XXXVI 

When,  mad  in  their  mirth,  they  raised 
dust  to  soil  thy  robe,  O  Beautiful,  it 
made  my  heart  sick. 

I  cried  to  thee  and  said,  "Take  thy 
rod  of  punishment  and  judge  them." 

The  morning  light  struck  upon  those 
eyes,  red  with  the  revel  of  night;  the 
place  of  the  white  lily  greeted  their 
burning  breath;  the  stars  through  the 
depth  of  the  sacred  dark  stared  at  their 
carousing — at  those  that  raised  dust  to 
soil  thy  robe,  O  Beautiful! 

Thy  judgment  seat  was  in  the  flower 
garden,  in  the  birds'  notes  in  spring- 
time: in  the  shady  river-banks,  where 
the  trees  muttered  in  answer  to  the 
muttering  of  the  waves. 

O  my  Lover,  they  were  pitiless  in 
their  passion. 


48         FRUIT-GATHERING 

They  prowled  in  the  dark  to  snatch 
thy  ornaments  to  deck  their  own  de- 
sires. 

When  they  had  struck  thee  and 
thou  wert  pained,  it  pierced  me  to  the 
quick,  and  I  cried  to  thee  and  said, 
"Take  thy  sword,  O  my  Lover,  and 
judge  them!" 

Ah,  but  thy  justice  was  vigilant. 

A  mother's  tears  were  shed  on  their 
insolence;  the  imperishable  faith  of  a 
lover  hid  their  spears  of  rebellion  in  its 
own  wounds. 

Thy  judgment  was  in  the  mute  pain 
of  sleepless  love:  in  the  blush  of  the 
chaste:  in  the  tears  of  the  night  of  the 
desolate:  in  the  pale  morning-light  of 
forgiveness. 

O  Terrible,  they  in  their  reckless 
greed  climbed  thy  gate  at  night,  break- 
ing into  thy  storehouse  to  rob  thee. 

But  the  weight  of  their  plunder  grew 


FRUIT-GATHERING         49 

immense,  too  heavy  to  carry  or  to  re- 
move. 

Thereupon  I  cried  to  thee  and  said. 
Forgive  them,  O  Terrible! 

Thy  forgiveness  burst  in  storms, 
throwing  them  down,  scattering  their 
thefts  in  the  dust. 

Thy  forgiveness  was  in  the  thunder- 
stone;  in  the  shower  of  blood;  in  the 
angry  red  of  the  sunset. 


50         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXVII 

Upagupta,  the  disciple  of  Buddha, 
lay  asleep  on  the  dust  by  the  city  wall 
of  Mathura. 

Lamps  were  all  out,  doors  were  all 
shut,  and  stars  were  all  hidden  by  the 
murky  sky  of  August. 

Whose  feet  were  those  tinkling  with 
anklets,  touching  his  breast  of  a  sudden? 

He  woke  up  startled,  and  the  light 
from  a  woman's  lamp  struck  his  for- 
giving eyes. 

It  was  the  dancing  girl,  starred  with 
jewels,  clouded  with  a  pale-blue  mantle, 
drunk  with  the  wine  of  her  youth. 

She  lowered  her  lamp  and  saw  the 
young  face,  austerely  beautiful. 

"Forgive  me,  young  ascetic,"  said 


FRUIT-GATHERING         51 

the  woman;  "graciously  come  to  my 
house.  The  dusty  earth  is  not  a  fit  bed 
for  you." 

The  ascetic  answered,  "Woman,  go 
on  your  way;  when  the  time  is  ripe  I 
will  come  to  you." 

Suddenly  the  black  night  showed  its 
teeth  in  a  flash  of  lightning. 

The  storm  growled  from  the  corner 
of  the  sky,  and  the  woman  trembled  in 
fear. 


The  branches  of  the  wayside  trees 
were  aching  with  blossom. 

Gay  notes  of  the  flute  came  floating 
in  the  warm  spring  air  from  afar. 

The  citizens  had  gone  to  the  woods, 
to  the  festival  of  flowers. 

From  the  mid-sky  gazed  the  full 
moon  on  the  shadows  of  the  silent 
town. 


52         FRUIT-GATHERING 

The  young  ascetic  was  walking  in 
the  lonely  street,  while  overhead  the 
lovesick  koels  urged  from  the  mango 
branches  their  sleepless  plaint. 

Upagupta  passed  through  the  city 
gates,  and  stood  at  the  base  of  the 
rampart. 

What  woman  lay  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wall  at  his  feet,  struck  with  the 
black  pestilence,  her  body  spotted  with 
sores,  hurriedly  driven  away  from  the 
town.? 

The  ascetic  sat  by  her  side,  taking 
her  head  on  his  knees,  and  moistened 
her  lips  with  water  and  smeared  her 
body  with  balm. 

"Who  are  you,  merciful  one.^^"  asked 
the  woman. 

"The  time,  at  last,  has  come  to  visit 
you,  and  I  am  here,"  repUed  the  young 
ascetic. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         53 


XXXVIII 

This  is  no  mere  dallying  of  love  be- 
tween us,  my  lover. 

Again  and  again  have  swooped  down 
upon  me  the  screaming  nights  of  storm, 
blowing  out  my  lamp:  dark  doubts 
have  gathered,  blotting  out  all  stars 
from  my  sky. 

Again  and  again  the  banks  have 
burst,  letting  the  flood  sweep  away  my 
harvest,  and  wailing  and  despair  have 
rent  my  sky  from  end  to  end. 

This  have  I  learnt  that  there  are 
blows  of  pain  in  your  love,  never  the 
cold  apathy  of  death. 


54         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XXXIX 

The  wall  breaks  asunder,  light,  like 
divine  laughter,  bursts  in. 
Victory,  O  Light! 

The  heart  of  the  night  is  pierced ! 

With  your  flashing  sword  cut  in 
twain  the  tangle  of  doubt  and  feeble 
desires ! 

Victory ! 

Come,  Implacable! 

Come,  you  who  are  terrible  in  your 
whiteness. 

O  Light,  your  drum  sounds  in  the 
march  of  fire,  and  the  red  torch  is 
held  on  high;  death  dies  in  a  burst  of 
splendour! 


FRUIT-GATHERING         55 


XL 

O  FIRE,  my  brother,  I  sing  victory  to 
you. 

You  are  the  bright  red  image  of  fear- 
ful freedom. 

You  swing  your  arms  in  the  sky, 
you  sweep  your  impetuous  fingers 
across  the  harp-string,  your  dance  mu- 
sic is  beautiful. 

When  my  days  are  ended  and  the 
gates  are  opened  you  will  burn  to  ashes 
this  cordage  of  hands  and  feet. 

My  body  will  be  one  with  you,  my 
heart  will  be  caught  in  the  whirls  of 
your  frenzy,  and  the  burning  heat  that 
was  my  life  will  flash  up  and  mingle  it- 
self in  your  flame. 


56         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XLI 

The  Boatman  is  out  crossing  the  wild 
sea  at  night. 

The  mast  is  aching  because  of  its  full 
sails  filled  with  the  violent  wind. 

Stung  with  the  night's  fang  the  sky 
falls  upon  the  sea,  poisoned  with  black 
fear. 

The  waves  dash  their  heads  against 
the  dark  unseen,  and  the  Boatman  is 
out  crossing  the  wild  sea. 

The  Boatman  is  out,  I  know  not  for 
what  tryst,  startling  the  night  with  the 
sudden  white  of  his  sails. 

I  know  not  at  what  shore,  at  last,  he 
lands  to  reach  the  silent  courtyard 
where  the  lamp  is  burning  and  to  find 
her  who  sits  in  the  dust  and  waits. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         57 

What  is  the  quest  that  makes  his 
boat  care  not  for  storm  nor  dark- 
ness? 

Is  it  heavy  with  gems  and  pearls? 

Ah,  no,  the  Boatman  brings  with 
him  no  treasure,  but  only  a  white  rose 
in  his  hand  and  a  song  on  his  lips. 

It  is  for  her  who  watches  alone  at 
night  with  her  lamp  burning. 

She  dwells  in  the  wayside  hut. 

Her  loose  hair  flies  in  the  wind  and 
hides  her  eyes. 

The  storm  shrieks  through  her 
broken  doors,  the  light  flickers  in  her 
earthen  lamp  flinging  shadows  on  the 
walls. 

Through  the  howl  of  the  winds  she 
hears  him  call  her  name,  she  whose 
name  is  unknown. 

It  is  long  since  the  Boatman  sailed. 

It  will  be  long  before  the  day  breaks 
and  he  knocks  at  the  door. 


58         FRUIT-GATHERING 

The  drums  will  not  be  beaten  and 
none  will  know. 

Only  light  shall  fill  the  house,  blessed 
shall  be  the  dust,  and  the  heart  glad. 

All  doubts  shall  vanish  in  silence 
when  the  Boatman  comes  to  the  shore. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         59 


XLII 

I  CLING  to  this  living  raft,  my  body,  in 
the  narrow  stream  of  my  earthly  years. 
I  leave  it  when  the  crossing  is  over. 

And  then.f^ 

I  do  not  know  if  the  light  there  and 
the  darkness  are  the  same. 

The  Unknown  is  the  perpetual  free- 
dom: 

He  is  pitiless  in  his  love. 

He  crushes  the  shell  for  the  pearl, 
dumb  in  the  prison  of  the  dark. 

You  muse  and  weep  for  the  days 
that  are  done,  poor  heart! 

Be  glad  that  days  are  to  come! 

The  hour  strikes,  O  pilgrim! 

It  is  time  for  you  to  take  the  parting 
of  the  ways ! 

His  face  will  be  unveiled  once  again 
and  you  shall  meet. 


60         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XLIII 

Over  the  relic  of  Lord  Buddha  King 
Bimbisar  built  a  shrine,  a  salutation 
in  white  marble. 

There  in  the  evening  would  come 
all  the  brides  and  daughters  of  the 
King's  house  to  offer  flowers  and  light 
lamps. 

When  the  son  became  king  in  his 
time  he  washed  his  father's  creed 
away  with  blood,  and  lit  sacrificial 
fires  with  its  sacred  books. 

The  autumn  day  was  dying. 

The  evening  hour  of  worship  was 
near. 

Shrimati,  the  queen's  maid,  devoted 
to  Lord  Buddha,  having  bathed  in  holy 
water,  and  decked  the  golden  tray  with 


FRUIT-GATHERING         61 

lamps  and  fresh  white  blossoms,  si- 
lently raised  her  dark  eyes  to  the 
queen's  face. 

The  queen  shuddered  in  fear  and 
said,  "Do  you  not  know,  foolish  girl, 
that  death  is  the  penalty  for  whoever 
brings  worship  to  Buddha's  shrine? 

'*Such  is  the  king's  will." 

Shrimati  bowed  to  the  queen,  and 
turning  away  from  her  door  came  and 
stood  before  Amita,  the  newly  wed 
bride  of  the  king's  son. 

A  mirror  of  burnished  gold  on  her 
lap,  the  newly  wed  bride  was  braiding 
her  dark  long  tresses  and  painting  the 
red  spot  of  good  luck  at  the  parting  of 
her  hair. 

Her  hands  trembled  when  she  saw 
the  young  maid,  and  she  cried,  "What 
fearful  peril  would  you  bring  me! 
Leave  me  this  instant." 


62         FRUIT-GATHERING 

Princess  Shukla  sat  at  the  window 
reading  her  book  of  romance  by  the 
light  of  the  setting  sun. 

She  started  when  she  saw  at  her  door 
the  maid  with  the  sacred  offerings. 

Her  book  fell  down  from  her  lap, 
and  she  whispered  in  Shrimati's  ears, 
"Rush  not  to  death,  daring  woman!" 

Shrimati  walked  from  door  to  door. 

She  raised  her  head  and  cried,  "O 
women  of  the  king's  house,  hasten! 

"The  time  for  our  Lord's  worship 
is  come!" 

Some  shut  their  doors  in  her  face 
and  some  reviled  her. 

The  last  gleam  of  daylight  faded 
from  the  bronze  dome  of  the  palace 
tower. 

Deep  shadows  settled  in  street  cor- 
ners: the  bustle  of  the  city  was  hushed: 
the  gong  at  the  temple  of  Shiva  an- 
nounced the  time  of  the  evening  prayer. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         63 

In  the  dark  of  the  autumn  evening, 
deep  as  a  limpid  lake,  stars  throbbed 
with  light,  when  the  guards  of  the 
palace  garden  were  startled  to  see 
through  the  trees  a  row  of  lamps  burn- 
ing at  the  shrine  of  Buddha. 

They  ran  with  their  swords  un- 
sheathed, crying,  "Who  are  you,  fool- 
ish one,  reckless  of  death?" 

"I  am  Shrimati,"  replied  a  sweet 
voice,  "the  servant  of  Lord  Buddha." 

The  next  moment  her  heart's  blood 
coloured  the  cold  marble  with  its  red. 

And  in  the  still  hour  of  stars  died 
the  light  of  the  last  lamp  of  worship  at 
the  foot  of  the  shrine. 


64        FRUIT-GATHERING 


XLIV 

The  day  that  stands  between  you  and 
me  makes  her  last  bow  of  farewell. 

The  night  draws  her  veil  over  her 
face,  and  hides  the  one  lamp  burning  in 
my  chamber. 

Your  dark  servant  comes  noiselessly 
and  spreads  the  bridal  carpet  for  you 
to  take  your  seat  there  alone  with  me 
in  the  wordless  silence  till  night  is 
done. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         65 


XLV 

My  night  has  passed  on  the  bed  of 
sorrow,  and  my  eyes  are  tired.  My 
heavy  heart  is  not  yet  ready  to  meet 
morning  with  its  crowded  joys. 

Draw  a  veil  over  this  naked  light, 
beckon  aside  from  me  this  glaring  flash 
and  dance  of  life. 

Let  the  mantle  of  tender  darkness 
cover  me  in  its  folds,  and  cover  my 
pain  awhile  from  the  pressure  of  the 
world. 


dQ         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XLVI 

The  time  is  past  when  I  could  repay 
her  for  all  that  I  received. 

Her  night  has  found  its  morning  and 
thou  hast  taken  her  to  thy  arms:  and 
to  thee  I  bring  my  gratitude  and  my 
gifts  that  were  for  her. 

For  all  hurts  and  offences  to  her  I 
come  to  thee  for  forgiveness. 

I  offer  to  thy  service  those  flowers 
of  my  love  that  remained  in  bud  when 
she  waited  for  them  to  open. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         67 


XLVII 

I  FOUND  a  few  old  letters  of  mine 
carefully  hidden  in  her  box — a  few 
small  toys  for  her  memory  to  play  with. 
With  a  timorous  heart  she  tried  to 
steal  these  trifles  from  time's  turbulent 
stream,  and  said,  "These  are  mine 
only!" 

Ah,  there  is  no  one  now  to  claim 
them,  who  can  pay  their  price  with 
loving  care,  yet  here  they  are  still. 

Surely  there  is  love  in  this  world  to 
save  her  from  utter  loss,  even  like  this 
love  of  hers  that  saved  these  letters 
with  such  fond  care. 


68         FRUIT-GATHERING 


XLVIII 

Bring  beauty  and  order  into  my  for- 
lorn life,  woman,  as  you  brought  them 
into  my  house  when  you  lived. 

Sweep  away  the  dusty  fragments  of 
the  hours,  fill  the  empty  jars,  and  mend 
all  that  has  been  neglected. 

.Then  open  the  inner  door  of  the 
shrine,  light  the  candle,  and  let  us  meet 
there  in  silence  before  our  God. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         6d 


XLIX 

The  pain  was  great  when  the  strings 
were  being  tuned,  my  Master! 

Begin  your  music,  and  let  me  forget 
the  pain;  let  me  feel  in  beauty  what 
you  had  in  your  mind  through  those 
pitiless  days. 

The  waning  night  lingers  at  my 
doors,  let  her  take  her  leave  in  songs. 

Pour  your  heart  into  my  life  strings, 
my  Master,  in  tunes  that  descend  from 
your  stars. 


70         FRUIT-GATHERING 


In  the  lightning  flash  of  a  moment 
I  have  seen  the  immensity  of  your 
creation  in  my  life — creation  through 
many  a  death  from  world  to  world. 

I  weep  at  my  unworthiness  when  I 
see  my  life  in  the  hands  of  the  unmean- 
ing hours, — but  when  I  see  it  in  your 
hands  I  know  it  is  too  precious  to  be 
squandered  among  shadows. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         71 


LI 


I  KNOW  that  at  the  dim  end  of  some 
day  the  sun  will  bid  me  its  farewell. 

Shepherds  will  play  their  pipes  be- 
neath the  banyan  trees,  and  cattle 
graze  on  the  slope  by  the  river,  while 
my  days  will  pass  into  the  dark. 

This  is  my  prayer,  that  I  may  know 
before  I  leave  why  the  earth  called  me 
to  her  arms. 

Why  her  night's  silence  spoke  to  me 
of  stars,  and  her  daylight  kissed  my 
thoughts  into  flower. 

Before  I  go  may  I  linger  over  my 
last  refrain,  completing  its  music,  may 
the  lamp  be  lit  to  see  your  face  and  the 
wreath  woven  to  crown  you. 


72         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LII 

What  music  is  that  in  whose  measure 
the  world  is  rocked? 

We  laugh  when  it  beats  upon  the 
crest  of  Hfe,  we  shrink  in  terror  when 
it  returns  into  the  dark. 

But  the  play  is  the  same  that  comes 
and  goes  with  the  rhythm  of  the  end- 
less music. 

You  hide  your  treasure  in  the  palm 
of  your  hand,  and  we  cry  that  we  are 
robbed. 

But  open  and  shut  your  palm  as  you 
will,  the  gain  and  the  loss  are  the  same. 

At  the  game  you  play  with  your 
own  self  you  lose  and  win  at  once. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         73 


LIII 

I  HAVE  kissed  this  world  with  my  eyes 
and  my  limbs;  I  have  wrapt  it  within 
my  heart  in  numberless  folds;  I  have 
flooded  its  days  and  nights  with 
thoughts  till  the  world  and  my  life 
have  grown  one, — and  I  love  my  life 
because  I  love  the  light  of  the  sky  so 
enwoven  with  me. 

If  to  leave  this  world  be  as  real  as 
to  love  it — then  there  must  be  a  mean- 
ing in  the  meeting  and  the  parting  of 
life. 

If  that  love  were  deceived  in  death, 
then  the  canker  of  this  deceit  would 
eat  into  all  things,  and  the  stars  would 
shrivel  and  grow  black. 


74         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LIV 

The  Cloud  said  to  me,  "I  vanish"; 
the  Night  said,  "I  plunge  into  the 
fiery  dawn." 

The  Pain  said,  "I  remain  in  deep 
silence  as  his  footprint." 

*'I  die  into  the  fulness,"  said  my  life 
to  me. 

The  Earth  said,  *'My  lights  kiss  your 
thoughts  every  moment." 

"The  days  pass,"  Love  said,  "but  I 
wait  for  you." 

Death  said,  "I  ply  the  boat  of  your 
life  across  the  sea." 


FRUIT-GATHERING         75 


TuLSiDAS,  the  poet,  was  wandering, 
deep  in  thought,  by  the  Ganges,  in  that 
lonely  spot  where  they  burn  their  dead. 

He  found  a  woman  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  the  corpse  of  her  dead  husband, 
gaily  dressed  as  for  a  wedding. 

She  rose  as  she  saw  him,  bowed  to 
him,  and  said,  "Permit  me.  Master, 
with  your  blessing,  to  follow  my  hus- 
band to  heaven." 

"Why  such  hurry,  my  daughter?" 
asked  Tulsidas.  "Is  not  this  earth  also 
His  who  made  heaven  .f^" 

"For  heaven  I  do  not  long,"  said 
the  woman.     "I  want  my  husband." 

Tulsidas  smiled  and  said  to  her,  "Go 
back  to  your  home,  my  child.  Before 
the  month  is  over  you  will  find  your 
husband." 


76         FRUIT-GATHERING 

The  woman  went  back  with  glad 
hope.  Tulsidas  came  to  her  every  day 
and  gave  her  high  thoughts  to  think, 
till  her  heart  was  filled  to  the  brim 
with  divine  love. 

When  the  month  was  scarcely  over, 
her  neighbours  came  to  her,  asking, 
"Woman,  have  you  found  your  hus- 
band.?" 

The  widow  smiled  and  said,  "I 
have." 

Eagerly  they  asked,  "Where  is  he.?" 

"In  my  heart  is  my  lord,  one  with 
me,"  said  the  woman. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         77 


LVI 

You  came  for  a  moment  to  my  side 
and  touched  me  with  the  great  mys- 
tery of  the  woman  that  there  is  in  the 
heart  of  creation. 

She  who  is  ever  returning  to  God 
his  own  outflowing  of  sweetness;  she  is 
the  ever  fresh  beauty  and  youth  in 
nature;  she  dances  in  the  bubbhng 
streams  and  sings  in  the  morning  light; 
she  with  heaving  waves  suckles  the 
thirsty  earth;  in  her  the  Eternal  One 
breaks  in  two  in  a  joy  that  no  longer 
may  contain  itself,  and  overflows  in  the 
pain  of  love. 


78         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LVII 

Who  is  she  who  dwells  in  my  heart, 
the  woman  forlorn  for  ever? 

I  wooed  her  and  I  failed  to  win  her. 

I  decked  her  with  wreaths  and  sang 
in  her  praise. 

A  smile  shone  in  her  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  it  faded. 

"I  have  no  joy  in  thee,"  she  cried, 
the  woman  in  sorrow. 

I  bought  her  jewelled  anklets  and 
fanned  her  with  a  fan  gem-studded;  I 
made  her  a  bed  on  a  bedstead  of  gold. 

There  flickered  a  gleam  of  gladness 
in  her  eyes,  then  it  died. 

"I  have  no  joy  in  these,"  she  cried, 
the  woman  in  sorrow. 

I  seated  her  upon  a  car  of  triumph 


FRUIT-GATHERING         79 

and  drove  her  from  end  to  end  of  the 
earth. 

Conquered  hearts  bowed  down  at 
her  feet,  and  shouts  of  applause  rang  in 
the  sky. 

Pride  shone  in  her  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  it  was  dimmed  in  tears. 

"I  have  no  joy  in  conquest,"  she 
cried,  the  woman  in  sorrow. 

I  asked  her,  *'Tell  me  whom  do  you 
seek.?" 

She  only  said,  "I  wait  for  him  of  the 
unknown  name." 

Days  pass  by  and  she  cries,  "When 
will  my  beloved  come  whom  I  know 
not,  and  be  known  to  me  for  ever?  " 


80         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LVIII 

Yours  is  the  light  that  breaks  forth 
from  the  dark,  and  the  good  that 
sprouts  from  the  cleft  heart  of  strife. 

Yours  is  the  house  that  opens  upon 
the  world,  and  the  love  that  calls  to 
the  battlefield. 

Yours  is  the  gift  that  still  is  a  gain 
when  everything  is  a  loss,  and  the  life 
that  flows  through  the  caverns  of 
death. 

Yours  is  the  heaven  that  lies  in  the 
common  dust,  and  you  are  there  for 
me,  you  are  there  for  all. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         81 


LIX 

When  the  weariness  of  the  road  is 
upon  me,  and  the  thirst  of  the  sultry 
day;  when  the  ghostly  hours  of  the 
dusk  throw  their  shadows  across  my 
life,  then  I  cry  not  for  your  voice  only, 
my  friend,  but  for  your  touch. 

There  is  an  anguish  in  my  heart  for 
the  burden  of  its  riches  not  given  to 
you. 

Put  out  your  hand  through  the 
night,  let  me  hold  it  and  fill  it  and  keep 
it;  let  me  feel  its  touch  along  the 
lengthening  stretch  of  my  loneliness. 


82         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LX 

The  odour  cries  in  the  bud,  "Ah  me, 
the  day  departs,  the  happy  day  of 
spring,  and  I  am  a  prisoner  in  petals!" 

Do  not  lose  heart,  timid  thing! 

Your  bonds  will  burst,  the  bud  will 
open  into  flower,  and  when  you  die  in 
the  fulness  of  life,  even  then  the  spring 
will  live  on. 

The  odour  pants  and  flutters  within 
the  bud,  crying,  "Ah  me,  the  hours  pass 
by,  yet  I  do  not  know  where  I  go,  or 
what  it  is  I  seek!" 

Do  not  lose  heart,  timid  thing! 

The  spring  breeze  has  overheard 
your  desire,  the  day  will  not  end  before 
you  have  fulfilled  your  being. 

Dark  is  the  future  to  her,  and  the 


FRUIT-GATHERING         83 

odour  cries  in  despair,  "Ah  me,  through 

whose  fault  is  my  life  so  unmeaning? 
"Who  can  tell  me,  why  I  am  at  all? " 
Do  not  lose  heart,  timid  thing! 
The  perfect  dawn  is  near  when  you 

will  mingle  your  life  with  all  life  and 

know  at  last  your  purpose. 


84         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXI 

She  is  still  a  child,  my  lord. 

She  runs  about  your  palace  and 
plays,  and  tries  to  make  of  you  a  play- 
thing as  well. 

She  heeds  not  when  her  hair  tumbles 
down  and  her  careless  garment  drags  in 
the  dust. 

She  falls  asleep  when  you  speak  to 
her  and  answers  not — and  the  flower 
you  give  her  in  the  morning  slips  to  the 
dust  from  her  hands. 

When  the  storm  bursts  and  darkness 
is  over  the  sky  she  is  sleepless;  her 
dolls  lie  scattered  on  the  earth  and  she 
clings  to  you  in  terror. 

She  is  afraid  that  she  may  fail  in 
service  to  you. 

But  with  a  smile  you  watch  her  at 
her  game. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         85 

You  know  her. 

The  child  sitting  in  the  dust  is  your 
destined  bride;  her  play  will  be  stilled 
and  deepened  into  love. 


86         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXII 

"What  is  there  but  the  sky,  O  Sun, 
that  can  hold  thine  image?" 

"I  dream  of  thee,  but  to  serve  thee 
I  can  never  hope,"  the  dewdrop  wept 
and  said,  "I  am  too  small  to  take  thee 
imto  me,  great  lord,  and  my  life  is  all 
tears." 

"I  illumine  the  limitless  sky,  yet  I 
can  yield  myself  up  to  a  tiny  drop  of 
dew,"  thus  the  Sun  said;  "I  shall  be- 
come but  a  sparkle  of  light  and  fill  you, 
and  your  little  life  will  be  a  laughing 
orb." 


FRUIT-GATHERING         87 


LXIII 

Not  for  me  is  the  love  that  knows  no 
restraint,  but  Hke  the  foaming  wine 
that  having  burst  its  vessel  in  a  mo- 
ment would  run  to  waste. 

Send  me  the  love  which  is  cool  and 
pure  like  your  rain  that  blesses  the 
thirsty  earth  and  fills  the  homely 
earthen  jars. 

Send  me  the  love  that  would  soak 
down  into  the  centre  of  being,  and  from 
there  would  spread  like  the  unseen  sap 
through  the  branching  tree  of  life,  giv- 
ing birth  to  fruits  and  flowers. 

.Send  me   the  love  that  keeps  the 
heart  still  with  the  fulness  of  peace. 


88         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXIV 

The  sun  had  set  on  the  western  mar- 
gin of  the  river  among  the  tangle  of 
the  forest. 

The  hermit  boys  had  brought  the 
cattle  home,  and  sat  round  the  fire  to 
listen  to  the  master,  Guatama,  when  a 
strange  boy  came,  and  greeted  him 
with  fruits  and  flowers,  and,  bowing 
low  at  his  feet,  spoke  in  a  bird-like 
voice — "Lord,  I  have  come  to  thee  to 
be  taken  into  the  path  of  the  supreme 
Truth. 

"My  name  is  Satyakama." 

"Blessings  be  on  thy  head,"  said  the 
master. 

"Of  what  clan  art  thou,  my  child.^ 
It  is  only  fitting  for  a  Brahmin  to 
aspire  to  the  highest  wisdom." 


FRUIT-GATHERING         89 

"Master,"  answered  the  boy,  "I 
know  not  of  what  elan  I  am.  I  shall 
go  and  ask  my  mother." 

Thus  saying,  Satyakama  took  leave, 
and  wading  across  the  shallow  stream, 
came  back  to  his  mother's  hut,  which 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  sandy  waste  at 
the  edge  of  the  sleeping  village. 

The  lamp  burnt  dimly  in  the  room, 
and  the  mother  stood  at  the  door  in  the 
dark  waiting  for  her  son's  return. 

She  clasped  him  to  her  bosom,  kissed 
him  on  his  hair,  and  asked  him  of  his 
errand  to  the  master. 

"What  is  the  name  of  my  father, 
dear  mother.^"  asked  the  boy. 

"  It  is  only  fitting  for  a  Brahmin  to 
aspire  to  the  highest  wisdom,  said  Lord 
Guatama  to  me." 

The  woman  lowered  her  eyes,  and 
spoke  in  a  whisper. 


90         FRUIT-GATHERING 

"In  my  youth  I  was  poor  and  had 
many  masters.  Thou  didst  come  to 
thy  mother  Jabala's  arms,  my  dariing, 
who  had  no  husband." 

The  early  rays  of  the  sun  glistened 
on  the  tree-tops  of  the  forest  hermi- 
tage. 

The  students,  with  their  tangled 
hair  still  wet  with  their  morning  bath, 
sat  under  the  ancient  tree,  before  the 
master. 

There  came  Satyakama. 

He  bowed  low  at  the  feet  of  the 
sage,  and  stood  silent. 

"Tell  me,"  the  great  teacher  asked 
him,  "of  what  clan  art  thou.?" 

"My  lord,"  he  answered,  "I  know  it 
not.  My  mother  said  when  I  asked 
her,  *I  had  served  many  masters  in  my 
youth,  and  thou  hadst  come  to  thy 
mother  Jabala's  arms,  who  had  no 
husband.'" 


FRUIT-GATHERING         91 

There  rose  a  murmur  like  the  angry 
hum  of  bees  disturbed  in  their  hive; 
and  the  students  muttered  at  the 
shameless  insolence  of  that  outcast. 

Master  Guatama  rose  from  his  seat, 
stretched  out  his  arms,  took  the  boy 
to  his  bosom,  and  said,  "Best  of  all 
Brahmins  art  thou,  my  child.  Thou 
hast  the  noblest  heritage  of  truth." 


92         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXV 

May  be  there  is  one  house  in  this  city 
where  the  gate  opens  for  ever  this 
morning  at  the  touch  of  the  sunrise, 
where  the  errand  of  the  Hght  is  fulfilled. 
The  flowers  have  opened  in  hedges 
and  gardens,  and  may  be  there  is  one 
heart  that  has  found  in  them  this 
morning  the  gift  that  has  been  on  its 
voyage  from  endless  time. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         93 


LXVI 

Listen,  my  heart,  in  his  flute  is  the 
music  of  the  smell  of  wild  flowers,  of 
the  glistening  leaves  and  gleaming 
water,  of  shadows  resonant  with  bees' 
wings. 

The  flute  steals  his  smile  from  my 
friend's  lips  and  spreads  it  over  my  life. 


94         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXVII 

You  always  stand  alone  beyond  the 
stream  of  my  songs. 

The  waves  of  my  tunes  wash  your 
feet  but  I  know  not  how  to  reach  them. 

This  play  of  mine  with  you  is  a  play 
from  afar. 

It  is  the  pain  of  separation  that 
melts  into  melody  through  my  flute. 

I  wait  for  the  time  when  your  boat 
crosses  over  to  my  shore  and  you  take 
my  flute  into  your  own  hands. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         95 


LXVIII 

Suddenly  the  window  of  my  heart 
flew  open  this  morning,  the  window 
that  looks  out  on  your  heart. 

I  wondered  to  see  that  the  name  by 
which  you  know  me  is  written  in  April 
leaves  and  flowers,  and  I  sat  silent. 

The  curtain  was  blown  away  for  a 
moment  between  my  songs  and  yours. 

I  found  that  your  morning  light  was 
full  of  my  own  mute  songs  unsung;  I 
thought  that  I  would  learn  them  at 
your  feet — and  I  sat  silent. 


96         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXIX 

You  were  in  the  centre  of  my  heart, 
therefore  when  my  heart  wandered  she 
never  found  you;  you  hid  yourself  from 
my  loves  and  hopes  till  the  last,  for  you 
were  always  in  them. 

You  were  the  inmost  joy  in  the  play 
of  my  youth,  and  when  I  was  too  busy 
with  the  play  the  joy  was  passed  by. 

You  sang  to  me  in  the  ecstasies  of 
my  life  and  I  forgot  to  sing  to  you. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         97 


LXX 

When  you  hold  your  lamp  in  the  sky 
it  throws  its  light  on  my  face  and  its 
shadow  falls  over  you. 

When  I  hold  the  lamp  of  love  in  my 
heart  its  light  falls  on  you  and  I  am 
left  standing  behind  in  the  shadow. 


98         FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXI 

O  THE  waves,  the  sky-devouring  waves, 
glistening  with  Hght,  dancing  with  Hfe, 
the  waves  of  eddying  joy,  rushing  for 
ever. 

The  stars  rock  upon  them,  thoughts 
of  every  tint  are  cast  up  out  of  the 
deep  and  scattered  on  the  beach  of  Hfe. 

Birth  and  death  rise  and  fall  with 
their  rhythm,  and  the  sea-gull  of  my 
heart  spreads  its  wings  crying  in  de- 
light. 


FRUIT-GATHERING         99 


LXXII 

The  joy  ran  from  all  the  world  to  build 
my  body. 

The  lights  of  the  skies  kissed  and 
kissed  her  till  she  woke. 

Flowers  of  hurrying  summers  sighed 
in  her  breath  and  voices  of  winds  and 
water  sang  in  her  movements. 

The  passion  of  the  tide  of  colours 
in  clouds  and  in  forests  flowed  into  her 
life,  and  the  music  of  all  things  caressed 
her  limbs  into  shape. 

She  is  my  bride, — she  has  lighted 
her  lamp  in  my  house. 


100       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXIII 

The  spring  with  its  leaves  and  flowers 
has  come  into  my  body. 

The  bees  hum  there  the  morning 
long,  and  the  winds  idly  play  with  the 
shadows. 

A  sweet  fountain  springs  up  from 
the  heart  of  my  heart. 

My  eyes  are  washed  with  delight 
like  the  dew-bathed  morning,  and  life 
is  quivering  in  all  my  limbs  like  the 
sounding  strings  of  the  lute. 

Are  you  wandering  alone  by  the 
shore  of  my  life,  where  the  tide  is  in 
flood,  O  lover  of  my  endless  days? 

Are  my  dreams  flitting  round  you 
like  the  moths  with  their  many-col- 
oured wings? 


FRUIT-GATHERING       101 

And  are  those  your  songs  that  are 
echoing  in  the  dark  caves  of  my  being? 

Who  but  you  can  hear  the  hum  of 
the  crowded  hours  that  sounds  in  my 
veins  to-day,  the  glad  steps  that  dance 
in  my  breast,  the  clamour  of  the  rest- 
less life  beating  its  wings  in  my  body? 


102       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXIV 

My  bonds  are  cut,  my  debts  are  paid, 
my  door  has  been  opened,  I  go  every- 
where. 

They  crouch  in  their  corner  and 
weave  their  web  of  pale  hours,  they 
count  their  coins  sitting  in  the  dust 
and  call  me  back. 

But  my  sword  is  forged,  my  armour 
is  put  on,  my  horse  is  eager  to  run. 
I  shall  win  my  kingdom. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       103 


LXXV 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  came 
to  your  earth,  naked  and  nameless, 
with  a  waiHng  cry. 

To-day  my  voice  is  glad,  while  you, 
my  lord,  stand  aside  to  make  room 
that  I  may  fill  my  life. 

Even  when  I  bring  you  my  songs 
for  an  oflfering  I  have  the  secret  hope 
that  men  will  come  and  love  me  for 
them. 

You  love  to  discover  that  I  love  this 
world  where  you  have  brought  me. 


104       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXVI 

Timidly  I  cowered  in  the  shadow  of 
safety,  but  now,  when  the  surge  of  joy 
carries  my  heart  upon  its  crest,  my 
heart  cHngs  to  the  cruel  rock  of  its 
trouble. 

I  sat  alone  in  a  corner  of  my  house 
thinking  it  too  narrow  for  any  guest, 
but  now  when  its  door  is  flung  open  by 
an  unbidden  joy  I  find  there  is  room  for 
thee  and  for  all  the  world. 

I  walked  upon  tiptoe,  careful  of  my 
person,  perfumed,  and  adorned — but 
now  when  a  glad  whirlwind  has  over- 
thrown me  in  the  dust  I  laugh  and  roll 
on  the  earth  at  thy  feet  like  a  child. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       105 


LXXVII 

The  world  is  yours  at  once  and  for 
ever. 

And  because  you  have  no  want,  my 
king,  you  have  no  pleasure  in  your 
wealth. 

It  is  as  though  it  were  naught. 

Therefore  through  slow  time  you 
give  me  what  is  yours,  and  ceaselessly 
win  your  kingdom  in  me. 

Day  after  day  you  buy  your  sunrise 
from  my  heart,  and  you  find  your  love 
carven  into  the  image  of  my  life. 


106       FRUIT-GATHERING 

LXXVIII 

To  the  birds  you  gave  songs,  the  birds 
gave  you  songs  in  return. 

You  gave  me  only  voice,  yet  asked 
for  more,  and  I  sing. 

You  made  your  winds  light  and  they 
are  fleet  in  their  service.  You  bur- 
dened my  hands  that  I  myself  may 
lighten  them,  and  at  last,  gain  unbur- 
dened freedom  for  your  service. 

You  created  your  Earth  filling  its 
shadows  with  fragments  of  light. 

There  you  paused;  you  left  me 
empty-handed  in  the  dust  to  create 
your  heaven. 

To  all  things  else  you  give;  from  me 
you  ask. 

The  harvest  of  my  life  ripens  in  the 
sun  and  the  shower  till  I  reap  more 
than  you  sowed,  gladdening  your  heart, 
O  Master  of  the  golden  granary. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       107 


/ 


LXXIX 


/ 


Let  me  not  pray  to  be  sheltered  from 
dangers  but  to  be  fearless  in  facing 
them. 

Let  me  not  beg  for  the  stilling  of 
my  pain  but  for  the  heart  to  conquer  it. 

Let  me  not  look  for  allies  in  life's 
battlefield  but  to  my  own  strength. 

Let  me  not  crave  in  anxious  fear  to 
be  saved  but  hope  for  the  patience  to 
win  my  freedom.  ^ 

Grant  me  that  I  may  not  be  a  cow- 
ard, feeling  your  mercy  in  my  success 
alone;  but  let  me  find  the  grasp  of 
your  hand  in  my  failure. 


108       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXX 

You  did  not  know  yourself  when  you 
dwelt  alone,  and  there  was  no  crying 
of  an  errand  when  the  wind  ran  from 
the  hither  to  the  farther  shore. 

I  came  and  you  woke,  and  the  skies 
blossomed  with  lights. 

You  made  me  open  in  many  flowers; 
rocked  me  in  the  cradles  of  many  forms; 
hid  me  in  death  and  found  me  again  in 
life. 

I  came  and  your  heart  heaved;  pain 
came  to  you  and  joy. 

You  touched  me  and  tingled  into 
love. 

But  in  my  eyes  there  is  a  film  of 
shame  and  in  my  breast  a  flicker  of 


FRUIT-GATHERING       109 

fear;  my  face  is  veiled  and  I  weep  when 
I  cannot  see  you. 

Yet  I  know  the  endless  thirst  in 
your  heart  for  sight  of  me,  the  thirst 
that  cries  at  my  door  in  the  repeated 
knockings  of  sunrise. 


no       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXXI 

-You,  in  your  timeless  watch,  listen  to 
my  approaching  steps  while  your  glad- 
ness gathers  in  the  morning  twilight 
and  breaks  in  the  burst  of  light. 

The  nearer  I  draw  to  you  the  deeper 
grows  the  fervour  in  the  dance  of  the 
sea. 

Your  world  is  a  branching  spray  of 
light  filling  your  hands,  but  your 
heaven  is  in  my  secret  heart;  it  slowly 
opens  its  buds  in  shy  love. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       111 


LXXXII 

J  WILL  utter  your  name,  sitting  alone 
among  the  shadows  of  my  silent 
thoughts. 

I  will  utter  it  without  words,  I  will 
utter  it  without  purpose. 

For  I  am  like  a  child  that  calls  its 
mother  an  hundred  times,  glad  that  it 
can  say  "Mother." 


112       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXXIII 


I  FEEL  that  all  the  stars  shine  in  me. 

The  world  breaks  into  my  life  like  a 
flood. 

The  flowers  blossom  in  my  body. 

All  the  youthfulness  of  land  and 
water  smokes  like  an  incense  in  my 
heart;  and  the  breath  of  all  things  plays 
on  my  thoughts  as  on  a  flute. 


II 

When  the  world  sleeps  I  come  to 
your  door. 

The  stars  are  silent,  and  I  am  afraid 
to  sing. 

I  wait  and  watch,  till  your  shadow 


FRUIT-GATHERING       113 

passes  by  the  balcony  of  night  and  I 
return  with  a  full  heart. 

Then  in  the  morning  I  sing  by  the 
roadside; 

The  flowers  in  the  hedge  give  me 
answer  and  the  morning  air  listens, 

The  travellers  suddenly  stop  and 
look  in  my  face,  thinking  I  have  called 
them  by  their  names. 


Ill 

Keep  me  at  your  door  ever  attend- 
ing to  your  wishes,  and  let  me  go 
about  in  your  Kingdom  accepting  your 
call. 

Let  me  not  sink  and  disappear  in 
the  depth  of  languor. 

Let  not  my  life  be  worn  out  to 
tatters  by  penury  of  waste. 

Let  not  those  doubts  encompass  me, 
— the  dust  of  distractions. 


114       FRUIT-GATHERING 

Let  me  not  pursue  many  paths  to 
gather  many  things. 

Let  me  not  bend  my  heart  to  the 
yoke  of  the  many. 

Let  me  hold  my  head  high  in  the 
courage  and  pride  of  being  your  ser- 
vant. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       115 


LXXXIV 

THE  OARSMEN 

Do  you  hear  the  tumult  of  death  afar, 
The    call    midst    the    fire-floods    and 

poisonous  clouds 
— ^The  Captain's  call  to  the  steersman 

to  turn  the  ship  to  an  unnamed 

shore, 
For  that  time  is  over — ^the  stagnant 

time  in  the  port — 
Where  the  same  old  merchandise  is 

bought   and    sold    in    an    endless 

round, 
Where   dead   things   drift  in   the  ex- 
haustion and  emptiness  of  truth. 

They  wake  up  in  sudden  fear  and  ask, 
"Comrades,  what  hour  has  struck? 
When  shall  the  dawn  begin?" 


116       FRUIT-GATHERING 

The  clouds  have  blotted  away  the 
stars — 

Who  is  there  then  can  see  the  beckon- 
ing finger  of  the  day? 

They  run  out  with  oars  in  hand,  the 
beds  are  emptied,  the  mother 
prays,  the  wife  watches  by  the 
door; 

There  is  a  wail  of  parting  that  rises  to 
the  sky, 

And  there  is  the  Captain's  voice  in 
the  dark: 

"Come,  sailors,  for  the  time  in  the 
harbour  is  over!" 

All  the  black  evils  in  the  world  have 

overflowed  their  banks, 
Yet,  oarsmen,  take  your  places  with 

the    blessing    of    sorrow    in   your 

souls ! 
Whom  do  you  blame,  brothers?     Bow 

your  heads  down! 
The  sin  has  been  yours  and  ours. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       117 

The  heat  growing  in  the  heart  of  God 
for  ages — 

The  cowardice  of  the  weak,  the  arro- 
gance of  the  strong,  the  greed  of 
fat  prosperity,  the  rancour  of  the 
wronged,  pride  of  race,  and  insult 
to  man — 

Has  burst  God's  peace,  raging  in  storm. 

Like  a  ripe  pod,  let  the  tempest  break 
its  heart  into  pieces,  scattering 
thunders. 

Stop  your  bluster  of  dispraise  and  of 
self-praise. 

And  with  the  calm  of  silent  prayer  on 
your  foreheads  sail  to  that  un- 
named shore. 

We  have  known  sins  and  evils  every 
day  and  death  we  have  known; 

They  pass  over  our  world  like  clouds 
mocking  us  with  their  transient 
lightning  laughter. 


118       FRUIT-GATHERING 

Suddenly  they  have  stopped,  become  a 
prodigy. 

And  men  must  stand  before  them 
saying: 

"We  do  not  fear  you,  O  Monster!  for 
we  have  lived  every  day  by  con- 
quering you, 

"And  we  die  with  the  faith  that  Peace 
is  true,  and  Good  is  true,  and  true 
is  the  eternal  One!" 

If  the  Deathless  dwell  not  in  the  heart 

of  death. 
If  glad  wisdom  bloom  not  bursting  the 

sheath  of  sorrow, 
If  sin  do  not  die  of  its  own  revealment. 
If  pride  break  not  under  its  load  of 

decorations, 
Then    whence   comes   the   hope   that 

drives  these  men  from  their  homes 

like  stars  rushing  to  their  death  in 

the  morning  light? 
Shall  the  value  of  the  martyrs'  blood 


FRUIT-GATHERING       119 

and  mothers'  tears  be  utterly  lost 
in  the  dust  of  the  earth,  not  buying 
Heaven  with  their  price? 
And  when  Man  bursts  his  mortal 
bounds,  is  not  the  Boundless  re- 
vealed that  moment? 


no       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXXV 

THE  SONG  OF  THE 
DEFEATED 

My  Master  has  bid  me  while  I  stand  at 
the  roadside,  to  sing  the  song  of  Defeat, 
for  that  is  the  bride  whom  He  woos  in 
secret. 

She  has  put  on  the  dark  veil,  hiding 
her  face  from  the  crowd,  but  the  jewel 
glows  on  her  breast  in  the  dark. 

She  is  forsaken  of  the  day,  and  God's 
night  is  waiting  for  her  with  its  lamps 
lighted  and  flowers  wet  with  dew. 

She  is  silent  with  her  eyes  down- 
cast; she  has  left  her  home  behind  her, 
from  her  home  has  come  that  wailing  in 
the  wind. 

But  the  stars  are  singing  the  love- 


FRUIT-GATHERING       HI 

song  of  the  eternal  to  a  face  sweet 
with  shame  and  suffering. 

The  door  has  been  opened  in  the 
lonely  chamber,  the  call  has  sounded, 
and  the  heart  of  the  darkness  throbs 
with  awe  because  of  the  coming  tryst. 


122       FRUIT-GATHERING 


LXXXVI 

THANKSGIVING 

Those  who  walk  on  the  path  of  pride 
crushing  the  lowly  life  under  their 
tread,  covering  the  tender  green  of  the 
earth  with  their  footprints  in  blood; 

Let  them  rejoice,  and  thank  thee. 
Lord,  for  the  day  is  theirs. 

But  I  am  thankful  that  my  lot 
lies  with  the  humble  who  suffer  and 
bear  the  burden  of  power,  and  hide 
their  faces  and  stifle  their  sobs  in  the 
dark. 

For  every  throb  of  their  pain  has 
pulsed  in  the  secret  depth  of  thy  night, 
and  every  insult  has  been  gathered  into 
thy  great  silence. 


FRUIT-GATHERING       123 

And  the  morrow  is  theirs.   . 

O  Sun,  rise  upon  the  bleeding  hearts 
blossoming  in  flowers  of  the  morning, 
and  the  torchlight  revelry  of  pride 
shrunken  to  ashes. 


THE  END 


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by  the  same  author  or  on  kindred  subjects. 


RABINDRANATH,  TAGORE'S  NEW  BOOK 


The  Hungry  Stones  and  Other  Stories 

By  RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 

Author  of  "Fruit  Gathering,"  "GitanjaK,"  "The 
Crescent  Moon,"  etc. 

Some  of  the  more  notable  of  Mr.  Tagore's  short 
stories  are  here  presented  in  translations  by  the 
author  and  with  illustrations  by  native  Indian  ar- 
tists. Ernest  Rhys,  in  his  biography  of  Tagore, 
devotes  much  space  to  a  consideration  of  him  as  a 
short  story  writer,  advancing  the  opinion  that  this 
particular  form  of  literature  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant expressions  of  Tagore's  genius.  Now  for  the 
first  time  English  readers  are  given  the  opportunity 
of  acquainting  themselves  with  this  new  Tagore  and 
of  forming  their  own  estimate  of  him.  None  of  the 
material  in  this  volume  has  ever  appeared  before  in 
English. 


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The  Hungry  Stones  and  Other  Stories. 

Fruit-Gathering. 

Chitra:  A  Play  in  one  act. 

The  Crescent  Moon:  Child  Poems. 

The  Gardener:  Love  Poems. 

Gitanjali:  Religious  Poems. 

The  King  of  the  Dark  Chamber:  A  Play. 

The  Songs  of  Kabir. 

Sadhana:  The  Realization  of  Life. 

The  Post  Office:  A  Play. 

Each  volume  decorated  cloth,  $1-50;  leather,  $2.00 

This  new  edition  of  the  works  of  Rabindranath 
Tagore  will  recommend  itself  to  those  who  desire 
to  possess  the  various  poems  and  plays  of  the  great 
Hindu  writer  in  the  best  possible  printings  and  bind- 
ings. Great  care  has  been  taken  with  the  physical 
appearance  of  the  books.  In  addition  to  the  special 
design  that  has  been  made  for  the  cover,  there  are 
special  end  papers  and  decorated  title  pages  in  each 
book.  Altogether  this  edition  promises  to  become 
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By  JOHN  G.  NEIHARDT 
Author  of  "The  Song  of  Hugh  Glass" 
Here  are  brought  together  the  more  important  of  Mr. 
Neihardt's  poems.  For  some  years  there  have  been  those — 
and  prominent  critics,  too — who  have  quite  emphatically 
maintained  that  there  is  no  greater  American  poet  than  Mr. 
Neihardt,  that  in  him  are  found  those  essentials  which  make 
for  true  art — a  feeling  for  words,  a  lyric  power  of  the  first 
quality,  an  understanding  of  rhythm.  Here,  for  example,  is 
the  comment  of  the  Boston  Transcript  on  the  book  just  pre- 
ceding this.  The  Song  of  Hugh  Glass:  "In  this  poem  Mr.  Nei- 
hardt touches  life,  power,  beauty,  spirit;  the  tremendous  and 
impressive  forces  of  nature.  .  .  .  The  genius  of  American 
poetry  is  finding  itself  in  such  a  poem  as  this.  .  .  .  The 
poem  is  powerfully  poetic.  ...  It  is  a  big,  sweeping  thing, 
blazing  a  pathway  across  the  frontiers  of  our  national  life." 

Califomians 

By  ROBINSON  JEFFERS  ti^S 

California  is  now  to  have  its  part  in  the  poetry  revival. 
Robinson  Jeffers  is  a  new  poet,  a  man  whose  name  is  as  yet 
unknown  but  whose  work  is  of  such  outstanding  character 
that  once  it  is  read  he  is  sure  of  acceptance  by  those  who  have 
admired  the  writings  of  such  men  as  John  G.  Neihardt,  Edgar 
Lee  Masters,  Edwin  Arlington  Robinson,  and  Thomas  Walsh, 
Virtually  all  of  the  poems  in  this  first  collection  have  their 
setting  in  California,  most  of  them  in  the  Monterey  peninsula, 
and  they  realize  the  scenery  of  the  great  State  with  vividness 
and  richness  of  detail.  The  author's  main  source  of  inspira- 
tion has  been  the  varying  aspects  of  nature. 


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Responsibilities 

By  WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS 

Author  of  "The  Cutting  of  an  Agate,"  "The  Hour 
Glass  and  Other  Plays,"  etc. 

Under  the  title  of  Responsibilities  William  Butler 
Yeats  brings  together  some  of  his  recent  poems.  It 
is,  after  all,  as  a  poet  that  the  majority  of  people 
like  to  think  of  Mr.  Yeats  and  this  newest  collection, 
the  first  in  a  number  of  years,  is  assured  of  a  warm 
welcome. 

The  Story  of  Eleusis 

By  LOUIS  V.  LEDOUX 

This  is  a  lyrical  drama,  in  the  Greek  manner, 
deaUng  with  the  story  of  Persephone.  Mr.  Ledoux 
has  constructed  such  a  play  as  might  well  have  held 
the  attention  of  the  assembled  mystae  at  Eleusis. 
It  is  Greek.  Better  than  this,  it  is  also  human.  Its 
beauty  and  its  truthfulness  to  life  will  appeal  alike 
to  the  lover  of  classical  and  the  lover  of  modem 
dramatic  poetry. 


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The  New  Poetry.     An  Anthology 

Edited  by  HARRIET  MONROE  and  ALICE 
CORBIN  HENDERSON,  Editors  of  Poetry 

Probably  few  people  are  following  as  closely  the  poetry  of  to-day 
as  are  the  editors  of  the  Poetry  Magazine  of  Chicago.  They  are 
eminently  fitted,  therefore,  to  prepare  such  a  volume  as  this,  which 
is  intended  to  represent  the  work  that  is  being  done  by  the  leading 
poets  of  the  land.  Here,  between  the  covers  of  one  book,  are 
brought  together  poems  by  a  great  many  different  writers,  all  of 
whom  may  be  said  to  be  responsible  in  a  measure  for  the  revival  of 
interest  in  poetry  in  this  country.  The  volume  is  unusual,  not  only 
in  the  number  of  names  which  it  contains,  but  in  the  splendid  in- 
sight which  it  gives  into  a  literature  which  seems  to  be  coming  once 
more  into  its  own. 


Poems  of  the  Great  War 

By  J.  W.  CUNLIFFE 

Here  are  brought  together  under  the  editorship  of  Dr.  CunlifFe 
some  of  the  more  notable  poems  which  have  dealt  with  the  great 
war.  Among  the  writers  represented  are  Rupert  Brooke,  John 
Masefield,  Lincoln  Colcord,  William  Benet,  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson, 
Hermann  Hagedorn,  Alfred  Noyes,  Rabindranath  Tagore,  Walter 
De  La  Mare,  Vachel  Lindsay  and  Owen  Seaman. 


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